Split Second
by Something From A Fairytale
Summary: It was just a fleeting glance really, only a split-second within which his sharp gaze connected with the auburn waterfall of hair that fanned her pretty neck, and nothing more. Nothing more for that day, he promised. Besides, a split-second was enough. To


**Split-second**

He entered the Great Hall with a deliberate swagger in his step. The usual wolfish grin was in place and the silky black hair that he seldom thought to tame fell elegantly over his forehead.

Nobody noticed that his eyes were not sparkling with mischief or mirth as they often did. Or that there was a tiny hint of a beard around his mouth that was a result of one morning's neglect. Or that his eyes did not first seek breakfast as he was accustomed to, but a certain redhead far across the table. It was just a fleeting glance really, only a split-second within which his sharp gaze connected with the auburn waterfall of hair that fanned her pretty neck and nothing more. Nothing more for that day, he promised. Besides, a split-second was enough. To gaze at her any longer would be a sin.

Perhaps, to look at her _at all_ was a sin in itself. He thought. Especially since even now, she belonged to his best friend.

Sure she denied it. She would tell anyone who'd listen that she hated his guts, that he was an arrogant, bullying, toe rag who deserved life imprisonment in Azkaban. But he saw how she would secretly laugh at James' jokes and cheer at his every Quidditch match, how she slowly grew to tolerate his shameless flirting during Head patrol and how at every mention of his name she would lift her head a little higher. He could tell that she adored his best friend. _He_ knew, because he saw it in her eyes. He was, after all, already an expert at seeing things through those fathomless orbs.

And since he could read them so well, he knew that Remus felt it too. The sorrow in those grave, amber eyes was all he needed to see. Only, Remus was too nice, too passive, too inclined to martyrdom to let his feelings even matter. The only reason he had not confronted Remus yet was because he knew Remus had kept _his_ secret. Remus knew where he went during his midnight strolls, what he did, and more importantly _why_ he did it. He understood. After all, they shared the same grief—the kind that came from falling in love with the wrong girl.

They had made a silent agreement to never talk about it. There was just something too cruel in casually discussing one's internal heartache over a tankard of butterbeer. Besides, he didn't think he could take seeing his own anguish mirrored in someone else's soul.

And weren't they just the pair? He laughed, thinking with a hint of irony. Two years they'd waited and eagerly gone along with James' crazy ploys, constantly joking that if Evans would just give Prongs the time of day, they could all die happy.

Well now, he _was_ dying. Simply with the thought that in a week or two, people would be calling them _Jily_ or _Lames_ or whatever the hell it was that official couples were called nowadays. Yes, he was indeed dying. But not happy, that's for sure.

Come to think of it, what was the difference if he died or lived? His life sure as hell wasn't happy to begin with. Not with a family like his. They had soon rather he got snuffed in a muggle burning rather than see him mingle with so called blood traitors. Personally, he couldn't care less about lineage. Half of those purists ended up mental didn't they? Take cousin Bella for instance.

Only the Potters had really seen any worth in him. They accepted him like a son. James treated him like a brother. No judgment, no questions asked. He owed James his sanity, his life. Most importantly, he owed James those temporary bouts of happiness that assured him there was hope in abandoning the dark fate his family had set. For that, he was eternally grateful.

To even think it possible that those emerald eyes he so loved would one day look at him in the way they looked at his best friend was…unforgivable—the height of treachery. What he had to do was be happy for them. He _was_. Most of the time. Except for that split-second everyday that he considered her his own.

His mind wondered idly to less sentimental matters. Like about getting properly drunk that night.

The next time he forayed into Hogsmeade for another tavern to drown in alcohol and women, he would have to invite Moony. Between them, they could probably land a few blondes with incredible blue eyes. Yes. Blondes had _blond_ hair. That was far enough from red wasn't it? And surely, blue eyes would _never_ turn green. That way, they could maybe forget for a while that they were head over heels in love with a certain redhead whose green eyes could make them want to be righteous, and good, and diligent and driven. And who could actually make him want to turn in homework regularly.

But who was he kidding? No one looked at cocky, lazy, arrogant, playboy Sirius Black when brilliant, charming, irresistible Quidditch superstar James Potter was around. Not anyone who mattered, anyway.

It wasn't fair that a mere 5 minute conversation with Lily Evans should make him want to prove that _he too_ could be brilliant, and charming, and irresistible. He felt no resentment, really. The only point being that he liked himself the way he was and he absolutely refused to change himself for her. With that thought alone, he knew he'd already lost the battle.

The breakfast table started to clear and he could hear the faint quiver of Wormtail's incessant snoring beside him. It was Saturday, he remembered. No classes. No Hogsmeade. Which meant that she was probably going to spend the next seven hours under her favorite tree—the one with an ample view of the Quidditch field without being too obvious. He knew, because he'd sat beside her that one time. She had lent him one of her favorite books in hopes of keeping him occupied while she discreetly watched James make somersaults in midair. A fairytale with a castle just like Hogwarts, kind fairies that granted wishes, and an evil queen who bore an astonishing resemblance to his own mother. Sleeping Beauty, it was called. In the story, the princess had fallen into a deep slumber and only a prince could kiss her and break the spell.

Naturally, she _had_ fallen asleep under the tree. And he sat still for a good thirty minutes just looking at her and thinking of Sleeping Beauty. He wasn't the prince. He reminded himself. She wouldn't wake for him even if he tried. So he left her there, knowing that James would soon come to finish the deed.

He turned and contemplated on getting another sausage.

"You could get sick at the rate you're going." Remus' quiet voice quipped from behind him. He cocked his head.

"You could try it." He replied in between munches. "It's certainly better than burying yourself in _Hogwarts, A History." _

Remus shrugged and made for the door. He followed with a muffin in his hand.

Lily Evans brushed past them and gave them a sideway glance. She smiled and the impact of it punched right into his gut.

"Join me?" She called to them, waving the books in her hand. "It's a lovely day for reading."

He grinned, painfully. "Sure, we'll join you. We can all have fun watching Prongs, eh?"

Lily said something foul and stomped off to her tree. He deliberately ignored the faint flush that rose up her cheeks, confirming his guess. He pulled Remus rather forcibly beside him. No one said he had to suffer in her company alone.

They took their time climbing up, one secretly hoping to have a good look at her from a distance and the other, trying very hard not to do so. Her hair seemed to be one with the autumn leaves today. So did her lips and her cheeks that were flushed by the gentle breeze.

Remus talked to her lightly about random, useless things. He alone could detect the almost non-existent tremors in his friend's voice. He lay down on the grass, tossing his arms behind his head. Remus would soon know where his thoughts were going to wonder, his eyes possibly betraying him at the moment. So he looked away, focusing on a passing cloud that looked strangely like a dog.

He was still keeping his promise. He told himself. He had looked at her for only a split-second today, and would do so every single day for as long as he lived. It was enough. He reminded himself. _It had to be_.

He closed his eyes to preserve the memory of her fiery hair fanning that pretty neck and wallowed in the sound of her voice as she subconsciously read Sleeping Beauty aloud.

_And they lived happily ever after_.

He could only imagine that her emerald eyes were now trained at the distant figure on a broomstick making spectacular airborne shots. He knew.

After all, he was an expert at seeing things through those fathomless orbs.


End file.
